My Prison

Waking up with frustration, unable to see, unable to be heard, unable to change, Going to bed with frustration. The cycle continues hope and faith are always there but frustration cuts in my skin killing every bit of hope and faith my soul tries to hold on to They look at me and think they know me, does the color of my skin define me? I was force to believe I wouldn't go far but my fathers and my grandfathers died for their dream but I still hear whispers in the corner. They look down on me, or do i look down on myself? The tears run down my face, because I need strength. Strength to change the world to continue what my fathers and grandfathers started. Freedom was not given to me when the country was established The fight for freedom still continues The prison might be gold now, But It is still a prison.